


Sweet Desserts

by princessvicky01



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cullen Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, NSFW, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 08:17:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11847609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessvicky01/pseuds/princessvicky01
Summary: Cullen X Annabel Trevelyan NSFW Smut, fluff and a little humour, set at the Winter Palace just before Trespasser.One off based on tumblr prompts





	Sweet Desserts

Lady Annabel Kathryn Trevelyan doesn’t want to discuss the foreboding Exalted Council, doesn’t want to be sat at this long table, dangerously close to the Empress, and most certainly doesn’t want to listen to another one of Lord Teagan’s stories. She swears she’d heard he was an interesting and handsome Lord, but it seems her sources were woefully off.

Speaking of off, she pokes at the soft cheese thing on the plate in front of her. A savoury dessert? Cheese!? Orlesian’s… Only the Winter Palace could ruin dessert. With a huff of disappointment, she looks to Cullen, happy to see he’s barely touched his either. She presents him a winning smile but his attention is fixed on the conversation he’s having with the noble lady opposite.

The woman is lent over the table, all but exposing herself to him and doing her best to be as disgustingly charming as possible. A frown creases Annabel’s forehead. Lady Brightwell had been one of those who had enquired after his linage following their last adventures at the Winter Palace, and it would be a lie to say either Annabel or Cullen had been happy with the seating arrangements.

Josie had ensured her it was all for a good cause with the Exalted Council being so close but she still didn’t like it. Nor had she liked the starter, mains, dessert, or conversation, but the wine was at least good. Perhaps a little too good. She’s not sure how many glasses she’s had but it’s enough to gloss over what would otherwise have been a total loss of an evening.

For a moment she simply watches Cullen, how his eyes dart away as the woman compliments him. In many ways, he still is very naive, or perhaps just humble, shy. But Annabel knows something far more confident, far more commanding, lingers under the blush on the surface. The lady opposite seems far too keen, pressing her bust together until there all but spilling out.

It’s time for some fun and to make sure they both remember her presence.

Picking up her wine she chimes in. “Lady Brightwell, I must say, your own hair is looking ravishing, where did you get the idea from?” her hand slips onto Cullen’s lap and slides down his inner thigh.

 _What in the name of Andstrate is she playing at!?_ Cullen’s eyes widen then promptly settle back to his usual serious expression. _She surely wouldn’t – oh yes, of course she would_. He shifts in his seat, Annabel’s fingers brushing his inner thigh then travelling up his crotch, making him stir to life.

Glaring at her from the corner of his eye, she seems undeterred, chuckling about something. Something about him! Now his eyes narrow. He’d been in a bad enough mood to start with, although he knew she felt little happier about these torrid noble gatherings, but now she’s jesting with some noble about how adorable he is when he blushes!

Her foot brushes against the back of his calf, her hand still working its usual magic. He doesn’t know where she’s learnt such temptress tricks from, ones that send him from soft to aroused with moments, but he knows he does enjoy them. Most of the time that is.

“I do not blush,” he interjects at their giggles, his voice overly stern. “And do you, Ladies, not have better things to discuss?”

Through his trousers her thumb presses down and circles around his ever-exposing tip. A surge of pleasure rips through his body, making him jerk and grab the table, much to everyone’s surprise. With a sharp breath he regains his senses.

“You’re right Cullen,” Annabel smiles sweetly, eyelashes fluttering as she rubs sinfully slowly up and down his growing length. “Do you know what I find most alluring about our dear Commander, Lady Brightwell?”

“Oh, no, but please do tell me!”

Annabel finally releases him so she can lean over the table, motioning the other woman in for a private whisper of intrigue, something every dinner party needed. He can’t hear what’s said, not over the general din but there’s a shocked gasp from the Lady opposite, her hand flying to cover her mouth and her cheeks turning crimson as she sits back down.

 _Now what is she playing at!_ Annabel goes to resume her stroking but his hand is quick to grab and clamp down on hers. “Inquisitor,” he growls. “May I have a word? In private. A rather urgent matter has just come to mind.”

“Of course,” her tone is light as her smile, clearly realising her game was done.

“Excuse us, Lady Brightwell,” nodding he abruptly gets to his feet, Annabel’s hand still clasped in his and sets about almost dragging her away. Pushing open the dining hall door they cross the small courtyard briskly in silence. He’d had men scout the layout, and knew of a small study off to one side which he swiftly pulls her into, while trying not to let his foul temper get the better of him.

“Before you get angry,” she starts as he closes the door, leaning to rest his hands against it and compose himself with a steady breath. “It was really dull in there, the food was horrid and she was openly flirting with you! Right in front of me!”

Growling he reels to face her, she’s perched herself on an armchair beside a hearth full of embers. Her arm is draped over the back of it and used as a pillow to rest her head making for elegant sight in her flowing red gown. Folding his arms, he refuses to let his annoyance go easily, no matter how stunning she looks in this new red dress. Always red. Always the most gorgeous woman in any room. It’s hard to believe she was actually jealous, he arches an eye brow sceptically.

“ _What!?_ It’s true, she practically had her boobs out on the table! That’s hardly my fault!” Annabel's chin lifts in the air, betraying her upbringing as she pouts, crossing her own arms defensively. “And did you _see_ that dessert? What’s wrong with cake? Everyone likes cake! There was cheese with blue bits of mold in it. Mold. In a dessert,” she puffs lifting her chin even higher. “When we get back to room, I’m ordering cake…” she mumbles her complaint to herself and he shakes his head lightly.

She was right. The lady had been flirting, or he’d thought so, and the food had been awful, he was in fact still hungry now. And she is of course, impossible to stay truly mad at as she runs from one thought to the next bringing honesty along the way. And speaking of cake may have also captured his attention. Even still he won’t simply let such a brazen act go.

“That does not excuse you using me as your…your entertainment!” He may not be mad but he’s still irked and makes sure this much is evident in his hard expression.

“I know,” she huffs a heavy sigh, her eyes dropping to the ground. “I’m sorry… I should know better. I know I don’t have to worry about the likes of Brightwell, not really, but still…” She’s on her feet now slowly closing the small space between them, a hand reaching out to squeeze his arm. “I don’t like other women thinking of you like that, undressing you, with their eyes like that,” her voice is soft as her the blue irises gaze up at him. “You still have no idea how handsome you are, do you?”

Any leftover annoyance disappears, lost in the sincerity of those eyes, she really had been jealous. No doubt board and mischievous too, but he could hardly hold that against her, that was her essence after all, adding that naughty but nice spice into his life in a way he never knew he’d needed. And she is divine in that dress, bodice boosting her curves, hugging her waist and layers of silk swaying over her rear. From the moment he’d seen her in it he’d wanted her out of it, now his fingers trace lightly down her arm, they are alone…

“You do realise, we’re going to have to finish what you started,” he muses, his lip twitching a dark smirk. “And of course, such behaviour requires punishment.”

A shiver runs down Annabel’s spine at the word, her eyes widen and a smirk creeps over her pout. “You mean you don’t wish to return to the dull party and awful food, which I so rudely distracted you from?”

He gives a light chuckle and she knows all has been forgiven, a grudge bearing Cullen did not chuckle like that.

“Not until I’ve put you back in your place, Lady Trevelyan,” he presses into her. Looming over he walks her backwards with his bulk, his eyes glinting darkly above as they halt at the chair. Her pulse begins to quicken at him so close, at his musky warm scent, the molten gold of his eyes and his simple commanding presence.

His mouth seals against hers with a passionate kiss, lips roaming over each over, drinking it the bitter tang of red wine that stained them both. She melts into it with a wanton sigh. It's broken as he roughly twists her round. Holding her hips she can feel him hard against her back and it sends a shudder of wanting through her. He leans over, arms wrapping around, his chest sitting flush against her back so he can drop his voice to a hot and heavy whisper in her ear.

“Bend over.”

The order is simple and for once she obeys. She seeks for purchase as fabric rustles, her skirts hiked high and she helps make sure her ample rear is on full display just for him. There’s a growl and a pinch that makes her squeal before her smalls are tugged down to her ankles followed by a short swift spank.

She yelps, lurching forwards, before settling herself back down, blood now pumping hard as she feels the heat of a red mark spread on her cheek.

Mimicking her hand movements earlier his fingers rub gently at her inner thigh, moving up slowly as his other hand begins to untie the corset at the back. Once lose enough his hand gropes round, grasping and kneading at her breast as his other fingers press and drag slowly up and down her creases. The touches deliver a moan from her, she’s all but helpless under him, her nails dig into old cushions, wishing it was his heated skin as she starts to pant.

Punishment indeed.

Oh, he’d learnt the different ways to punish her long ago, but forcing her hands and mouth to be idle as he enjoyed the sins of her flesh, a simple classic.

His mouth lands on her shoulder blade, placing fully embacing kisses across to the crook of her neck, exposed but the elegant bun she’s pinned in place. The stubble of his jaw is a harsh scrape against her sensitive flesh, another shudder, a wave of pleasure and want travels through her.

“Cullen…I’ll be good, please…” she murmurs then is forced to hum as his finger slips inside and he rolls her pert nipple between his fingers, taking his time with deliberate movements and kisses. “…please…” she moans now as he works, rocking his fingers back and forth, curling them inside, rubbing tender circles against that sensitive nub. A fresh bout of desire steals through, taking her breath away with a hiss and arching her back. Biting on her lower lip she hums in appreciation as he works masterfully until she's sodden.

Twisting her head, she tries to seek him, wanting more of him, all of him, only to have her nipple pinched in sharp reprimand. Her sudden shocked gasp generates a low rumble from his chest and then she’s left deprived of his touch.

Now she twists to catch sight of him, top buttons undone, a light sheen of sweat against his skin, golden curls starting to break loose, eyes dark with lust. Heavy hands are soon back on her hips, and she's quick to return her gaze back to the furniture supporting her. Swaying and guiding her as he runs his scorching tip then the full length of his shaft over her rear. “Have you learnt your lesson yet, Trevelyan?” He murmurs, voice thick with primal desires. He presses his tip at her entrance but doesn’t force inside, making her mewl at its throbbing heat so close.

“Yes, Commander,” she nods, some dark hair tumbling loose in large wavy curls, her eyes closing as she begs. "Yes, please, Commander..."

“Good,” with that he plunges inside. A gasp and a cry escape her lungs as he slowly fills her. Arms out stretched she pushes back, seeking to feel all of him, to know he’s filled her completely, to know she is his, completely.

She sings a blissful hum as he hilts himself. Rocking his hips, he begins to rut, his patience for the punishment seemingly gone as she hugs tight around him. Each movement is swift, a forceful smack inside to her very core which jolts a fiery pulse of pleasure through her. He pounds, again, and again and again.

Maker, he’s glorious, he’s always so fucking glorious, and he’s chosen her. Only lays claim to her. This is the side of the Commander no other woman, noble or not, gets to see.

Ploughing hard and fast the sound of flesh smacking against flesh, panting breaths and rampant cries overpower the small peaceful place. She can’t help but moan, every drive is another throb of pleasure, and babbling chorus of ‘yes’ beings to pour from her as euphoria builds. She aches for him, for more, rolling her hips against him and he delivers. Each slam takes over her body, her mind, leaving her breathlessly panting, sweat drenching her skin as her pulse soars to pump the building pleasure through every fibre of her. Until finally she can take no more.

Ecstasy explodes and shatters through her, shooting along every nerve, forcing out an organismic cry so loud, it resonates off the ancient bookcases and thrills the dusty tomes. Before her ringing praise has even ended he finds release, moaning for a few pants, blunt nails gripping as he spills, face contorting, his guttural moan breaks as his hips slow and his hold slackens.

He comes to stop, withdrawing slowly, and panting heavily he lowers her layered skirts back down before moving to collapse in the plush chair.

Still struggling for air and for some purchase back in the real world, Annabel’s eyes blink hazily open. He looks as dishevelled as she feels. Loose golden curls resting against his forehead, his jacket haphazardly undone and trousers up but not yet containing him.

Maker, he’s such a magnificent beast. Sprawled like a King on his throne, powerful chest heaving, like the lion of Fereldan she knew he was. With slightly wobbly legs she manages to climb on to the chair, he shifts to allow her space to nuzzle against his side, skirt and legs wrapped over his lap. Reaching up she finally gets to kiss him as she likes, her hand tracing his jaw, letting their mouths move together naturally, deep and tender, tracing her tongue over his, then pulling away, tugging lightly on that scar of his.

With a shared sedated hum, they lock eyes for a moment, sharing the love burned deep within the others gaze, one that runs through each of their cores, and which brings out devoted smiles.

Annabel settles in the crook of his neck. Her heartbeat calming with his under the palm of her hand, and after a few blissful moments she smiles, cracking her eyes open and glancing up at him.

“Hmmm… Don’t you want to know what I said to make Lady Brightwell blush so hard?”

He chuckles, heavy lids half opening to look at her as he shakes his head, then resting his head back against the cushions he replies. “No. No I do not.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are always gratefully received!


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